


Kick off the moss

by Lizardbeth



Series: Music Like Magic [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:37:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sif comes back from her business trip, she finds Loki all down because his music's going badly. She wants to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kick off the moss

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy Musician AU. No doubt influenced by Adam from _only lovers left alive_. Because Adam.

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss  
Well a few of the verses they've got me quite cross  
But the suns been quite kind while I wrote this song  
It's for people like you that keep it turned on  
\-- "Your Song" by Elton John

 

 

Sif pressed the numbers of her birthday into the keypad to access his flat, and smiled when the lift doors opened.

The smile slipped away when she entered. The flat was supposed to be sleek and modern, with an open layout focused entirely on the view of London beyond the panoramic windows, but he'd turned it into his own studio with heavy blinds over the windows, acoustic foam pinned to the walls, the drum kit set haphazardly next to the dining table, and computers and keyboards taking up an entire corner and plugged into too many power strips. His Fender was resting on the couch, cord snaking across the very expensive coffee table, surrounded by secondhand books, old food containers and beer bottles.

She sighed. He never did a lot of cleaning up, but he only left a mess like this when he was deep in the writing and ordinary tasks slipped to the wayside.

She didn't see him in the gloom of the sunlight barely peeking around the blinds and the singular glow from the light fixture over the dining table, before a couple of chords from his acoustic gave her the clue that he was sitting on the arm chair. He played the same thing twice more then groaned.

She rounded the couch to get a view. Loki was slumped in the chair, guitar across his body, head back with his eyes closed. He was shirtless and barefoot, and for a second she thought he was altogether naked, but his guitar was hiding the shorts he slept in, even though it was three in the afternoon.

"This place is a mess," she announced, and the reaction was hilarious. He'd had no idea anyone had come in, and startled violently, his eyes popping open and clutching the guitar like a shield, or stuffed animal, in front of him.

She laughed and then again when he let out a gusty sigh. "Jesus, Sif. You could've fucking rung the bell."

She arched her eyebrows at him. "Do I have to ring the bell now?"

He belatedly realized his mistake. "No, no, 'course not. But…" he frowned blearily at his phone on the side table as if it had betrayed him, "I thought you were coming back on Thursday?"

She shook her head at him in affectionate despair, rolling her eyes. If he'd been anyone else it would've been annoying as hell, but with him, it was a part of the package she'd long since accepted. His world was all music and doing what he wanted, and her world was deadlines and precision, and sometimes it seemed like they'd never overlap. But she enjoyed traveling to his world, even if he traveled to hers only with the greatest reluctance. "It is Thursday, Loki. Seems the doorman was right, when he said you hadn't left for days. Let's go find you some fresh air."

He wrinkled his nose as if the idea of fresh air was poison. "I'm working."

"This? This is getting drunk," she pointed to the open bottle of citrus-flavored vodka next to his phone, "not working."

"I can do both," he muttered defensively.

"When's the last time you had a shower?" When he didn't answer immediately, she added, "Not remembering means it's been too long. Put that away," she pointed to the guitar, "go shower, put on clothes, and we'll walk."

He considered, idly drawing his thumb across the strings, and countered, a mischievous gleam coming to his eyes, "How about: you shower with me, we don't worry about clothes, and in the morning you can find fresh air all on your own, if you like it so much."

"Tempting…" She leaned down and took a deliberate sniff. "But you smell like a pig. Not in the least appealing at the moment."

Which wasn't entirely true - there would always be something hot about him holding a guitar shirtless, but she also wanted to get him out of this flat before he mouldered.

He wasn't offended, as her comment merely made him change his offer, "Then I'll meet you in the bed after I shower."

She folded her arms, unwilling to negotiate. "Outside."

The smile grew to a smirking grin. "Ooh, _outside_. How naughty of you."

Groaning, she swatted him in the shoulder. "Go. You'll do better for a break, you know you will."

His hand found her arm and tugged her down. "Do I not even get a kiss?" he complained. "You've been gone for _ages_."

She pecked him on the lips and avoided his attempt to hold her. "You can have a better one after."

"Best thing you've said since you scared me half to death." He leveraged himself up to his feet, having to catch hold of the back of the chair to steady himself. "Oh. I think I may have had a bit too much."

"You think? Give me Jormungandr before you fall over and break it." She held out her hands, and he set the guitar in them and headed with extra careful steps to the bedroom suite. His hair at the back made her grin - because of its natural wave, old gel, and that he didn't often bother to cut it, it made spectacular bed-head, and it was sticking up like black peacock tail feathers.

Her eyes trailed down his bare back and the way the shorts hung off his hips, and she was a little regretful she'd said no to the bed. But no, that was for later, after she dragged him out of this cave.

She put his baby back in its case, and raised the window blinds to let in full sunlight. It was a gorgeous day, and the view of the river and the city was spectacular. She stood there and soaked it all in, wishing that she and Loki could trade - her office had a window but a view only of the building right next to it, and of course, Loki rarely looked out his own windows, despite the ridiculous amounts of money he paid for this view. But then, it wasn't as if he'd picked this place for the view or the restaurants, or any reason besides absolutely not wanting to be anywhere he might run into his family. She was a little surprised he hadn't moved to Ireland or Leeds or someplace else not-London.

Behind her, she heard the water start, and a bit later, he was singing. She listened, grinning when she recognized the melody of "In the starry night" which was the song he'd written for her when they'd been teenagers. He no longer sang it, since it was an Odinsons song, so she hadn't heard it for a year at least. She moved to the doorway to the bedroom - it was a little tidier than the outer room, since at least he didn't eat in this room. He knew she was likely listening, showing off and having fun with altering the song, changing notes and words.

But in embroidering variations on it, he lost the thread of the melody and the song turned into "Crocodile Rock". Silence fell when he figured out what it had become, followed by a loud "Fuck" which made her snicker. That was why he didn't drink before concerts.

For lack of anything better to do while he finished, she recapped the vodka bottle and collected all the trash to put in the appropriate bins.

It was tempting to get on the computer and see what he'd been working on, but she didn't touch it. He was obsessive about secrecy until the songs were ready, and last time she'd peeked he'd flown into a rage and accused her of spying for Thor. Which was absurd for a number of reasons, including the fact that Thor didn't write the songs for his new group and would have no use for Loki's, which Loki knew. But Loki was not particularly rational about his brother these days. It was still a sore spot between them that she refused to dump Thor from her client list or from being her friend, and she knew better than to push.

For his part, Thor always asked her about Loki, since she was the only one Loki still saw. Every time he asked her if she thought Loki would talk to him, and every time she had to tell him no.

The shower stopped and after a minute, she heard him call, "Are you sure you want me to get dressed? It would save time if you come in here. You've been gone weeks."

Through the open bedroom door she spied him with just a towel around his waist, and his hair curling wetly on his shoulders. And suddenly she wasn't sure, looking at the lithe length of him, bare-chested, pale skin damp and gleaming. She reminded herself that she had a plan, and he was not going to distract her from it. "There's plenty of time later. Besides, you can't tell me you couldn't take care of it yourself."

"Well, sure, but that's not as good," he grinned. "But if you insist on _sunshine_ …" He drawled the word in disgust, and turned away. But since she heard the sound of the drawers opening, he was getting dressed.

She wanted to lurk in the doorway and watch, but instead she wandered to the dining room table, which was spread with papers - scribbled lyrics, random sheet music, and a pile of unopened mail. She sorted it quickly, giving an exasperated groan at what looked like bills. "Loki, why haven't you given all this to Erik? That's why you pay… him…."

He emerged in black skinny jeans and a thin green t-shirt, all of it clinging so ferociously to his body her mouth went dry. She wanted to shove her hands underneath it, rip it off, and fuck him into the bed. She forgot about boring thing like the post and had to clear her throat to find her voice. "If you're aiming for 'I Am Not A Rock Star', this isn't a good disguise."

His smirk said that he'd noticed her reaction. "It's your idea to go out. We can still stay in…." The fingers of his left hand hovered at his waist, toying suggestively at the button, and for a breath, she thought about letting him get away with this blatant manipulation. It really had been too long... But no, she wanted to go outside with him.

"Put on your shoes, Mister. You're going to get a little color in those cheeks, and stop lurking around this place like the fucking Phantom of the Opera."

"Well, you are my Christine," he returned with a flirty grin, padding up to her. "You promised a better kiss, if I showered," he reminded her.

She stepped back. "I said, after. I didn't say after what."

"Sif!"

"You date a lawyer, you should pay more attention to the exact words," she warned playfully. "Besides, I know and you know where kissing would end and I really do want to go walk in the sun. Look out there, it's a beautiful day."

His glance to the outside was unimpressed, but he threw up in his hands in surrender and went back to his bedroom, muttering in her general direction.

Out on the riverwalk, the sun warming her black hair, she took his hand and when he threaded his fingers with hers, she was glad she'd stayed firm. Because it _was_ a beautiful afternoon, as they strolled along the promenade. Her skirt and silk shell were not out of line for the business people of the area, but no one paid him much attention either despite his clothes. He was only obviously recognized when they went into the gelato shop and the kid behind the counter tried to be very professional while he served them, and then blurted, "I love the Odinsons. I wish you would get back together."

Loki stiffened and said in a tight voice, "That is not going to happen."

He stalked out and was halfway down the block by the time Sif finished paying and hurried after him. "Hey."

Hurling the barely touched cup of hazelnut straight in the bin, he folded his arms and glowered at the other side of the river. "That's why I don't leave my flat. It's always about fucking Thor. Always."

"Well, I hope they don't think you were _actually_ fucking Thor, because ewww," she teased, trying to coax a smile from him. He didn't seem to hear her at first, then his head whipped around to stare at her. "You fucked a lot of people, but never him, I should hope. Unless there were things you two did on tour that I really, really don't want to know about."

He tried to keep his face still, but she saw the smile glimmering, trying to escape, and so she kept going, "Although I wouldn't say no to watching. You're both pretty hot and --"

"Sif. I'm gonna throw up, if you don't stop," he warned her, but finally chuckled and shook his head in resignation. "You're just determined not to let me be irritable today, aren't you?"

"The day's too pretty for Grumpy Gus. Here, you can share mine." She fed him chocolate off the little spoon, enjoying how he licked it clean, and by the time they'd finished the small dish, she was tired of holding back. "Now we can get to the kissing part. I missed you."

He let his mouth answer her, and her hands slid of their own accord around his waist and up his back, while he buried a hand in her hair to hold her lips to his. She let the railing brace her to kiss back fiercely, letting him know how much she'd wished he was with her, all those long days and longer nights doing tedious work in Brussels and Berlin.

His lips found her neck, and she combed her fingers through his hair, glad he hadn't put much product in it to tame it, preferring it long and disheveled, before tugging his mouth back to hers.

"Back to the flat?" he asked hopefully, pulling away to look in her eyes with that bright gaze that always seemed sharp as ice and could cut through all her defenses.

"Get a drink?" she countered.

"I had most of a bottle of vodka already today," he admitted. "Probably don't need any more."

She frowned. Although Loki was never abstemious about anything, day drinking alone was not a good sign. "Babe, what's wrong?"

He shrugged. "Nothing." That was obviously a lie, and it only took a look and her silence to get him to confess, with another shrug, "The new songs are crap."

"They can't be that bad," she disagreed. "You're always hard on yourself."

"Well, two of the new songs are good," he allowed. "One is salvageable. The last several are fucking awful. Averaging out to crap."

She had to smile at his evaluation, but still was sure he was being too harsh. "Then you definitely need a break." She tried to take his hand again, but he slung an arm over her shoulders, and she tucked her hand in his back pocket. They ambled slowly along the walk, and in his silence, she read that his trouble was deeper than just a couple of songs he didn't like.

"You're a great songwriter," she murmured. "You are. But only when you let it come from inside. I think you're trying too hard to come up with something that'll _sell_ , and so you're manufacturing."

She knew _why_ he was doing that, too, though she wouldn't say it aloud: because Thor's new band Avengers was burning up the American charts and Loki hated every song of theirs. He desperately wanted a bigger solo hit than the ones he'd had with Thor, to prove that he'd been right to leave. Because right now it was looking like the talented half had already gone on to bigger and better things.

"No, I'm not," he protested. "I would never--"

"Then why is your soul rebelling against this?" she countered. "That's why it's so difficult. You're trying to write _hits_ , not songs. And I know Infinity has to be pushing you. I warned you not to sign with them. Rickard Thanos' contracts are written in the blood of artists he's sucked dry. I've seen too many people get screwed over by him."

Loki scrubbed his free hand through his hair. "But he knows--"

"--what'll sell," she finished for him and turned to face him, holding him at the waist with both hands to keep him looking at her. "The more you write stuff that isn't you, and the more they mix it to death, the faker it sounds and the more you hate it. You know that. If it's not you and your music, it's someone else's songs, and you always said you'd never perform other people's songs, just your own."

"I did," he agreed and leaned his head against hers, rubbing his cheek against her hair as he wrapped his arms around her. "So you're okay with it if I only play pubs and live in some tiny flat?"

She snorted. "I know what they paid to use 'Undertow' in that advert. You'll never live in a tiny flat. But yes," she added more seriously, "I want you to be happy with your music, Loki. Not chase empty fame for no good reason. Isn't it better to have a few fans who appreciate your talent, than a bunch of teenagers who'll move on to the next hot thing in six months?"

"Does it have to be 'or'?" he joked. "I'll take both."

"When you have that flock of pretty young things around you, just remember who appreciated you first," she reminded him. "Even when you wouldn't let me sing."

He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. "Pretty young things have nothing on you. Never," he murmured, and leaned in to kiss her again. It was sweet and hot and she was disappointed when he pulled back. He was grinning, as he told her, "But you sing like a dying frog."

"Dying frog?" She elbowed him sharply. "Just for that you're buying me a drink of the best stuff they've got." She marched down the path, and he followed, laughing.

In the shiny bar in the bottom of the RBS building, the first they came to, a bunch of random professional types were already gathering for the end of the work day.

Loki looked around and raised his eyebrows at her in skeptical dismay, but she rolled her eyes back at him. She might be one of these people now, but it wasn't as if they weren't his people as well, growing up in the manor house his father's own music success had bought.

He ordered a Coke for himself, apparently serious about how much he'd already had to drink, and handed over his credit card to pay for her whiskey sour without complaint. They talked a little, mostly drowned out by the bland 80's covers playing too loudly. A sneer parked itself on his lips, and she knew he wasn't staying in the bar longer than her drink.

Then he saw the baby grand piano up on the little stage to the right of the bar. It looked more decorative than anything the bar actually used, but he kept eyeing it. She leaned into him when he was looking at it again. "Down, boy. It's probably not even in tune."

She should have known better than throw a challenge like that in front of him, especially when he was bored. He grinned at her. "You want to hear one of the good new ones? I'll play it for you."

"No, wait, Loki--"

But he didn't listen. "I want to know how people react, so why not test it right now?"

She wanted to bury her head in her hands, or at least let the floor swallow her whole, as Loki jumped up the step to the little stage. One of the waiters noticed and came up to him, "Sir, you can't - We don't--"

Loki interrupted him, "Just one song, I promise."

The waiter followed him, still trying to protest while Loki blithely ignored him until he retreated in helpless confusion.

The commotion drew attention, especially as he uncovered the keys and casually nudged the little stool with his foot to where he wanted it. "It's your lucky day, everyone. I have a song to try out," he announced loudly to the crowd. "I don't know if the piano is in tune, though, so let's hope it's not terrible, right?" He looked toward the bartenders. "And if you can turn off the background rubbish for a few minutes? That would be helpful. Thank you."

His sheer brazen attitude took command of the room, and Sif couldn't help a smile, as people turned to look at him. A whisper ran through the crowd as he was recognized. His flashing grin was gleeful as one of Asgard's old hits was cut off mid-verse, to usher in silence.

"Splendid. I'm Loki, if you don't know who I am, and I'm going to play a new song, called Renaissance." He perched on the edge of the stool, and she was a little impressed his jeans could bend at all as he extended one foot for the pedals and ran a scale quickly. His expression was briefly pleased by the tone, before everything extraneous dropped away from it for pure focus. There was absolute silence, as he held his hands poised above the keys, and closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath and pressing his lips together in passing anxiety.

Sif leaned forward eagerly, eager to hear his new song.

He tapped his other foot for the time, and launched straight into the song - fast chords forming under those long fingers, harmony and rhythm combined, and she already loved it before he started to sing. He didn't look at her, or anything, lost in the words and his playing. He had never sung with Thor's power, but Loki had a decent voice and knew how to write to his own strengths. In the lyrics, a phoenix died in a fire and was reborn, and even without the guitars and drums and backup singers that would eventually be added to the song, it reached inside her and held her still.

At the bridge, the melody seemed to wind around the chords until the lyrics came back in, all building on each other, until he finished with a final chord and a single note that shivered into the silence.

Sif broke the silence first, clapping enthusiastically. But she wasn't alone, as simultaneously the whole place exploded into applause. There were some cheers and whistles that weren't coming from Sif.

Loki pulled his hands back, for a moment staying still and not looking at anyone as he soaked it all in, but then with a fluid twist of his body he stood up, grinning. "Thank you. So, I guess I'll keep it then," he joked dryly, and with a wave of his hand in acknowledgment, jumped off the stage.

It took him longer to reach her than it had to play the song, as people wanted to talk to him. She shook her head when she saw the same waiter who'd tried to stop him want to take a photo with him. Loki just laughed and agreed; he was in an exuberant mood, and not even the couple of mentions of the Odinsons brought him down. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was drunk, but he was just high on the audience's response.

Finally he reached their table. "So?" he asked her eagerly. She just could not look away from him when he lit up like this, his eyes shining, smile bright and not tinged with bitterness or resentment. It felt all the more striking, because it was rare to see.

"You don't need me to tell you."

"Do you like it?" he insisted and when she didn't answer immediately, he grabbed her drink to drain it as if he thought she might not.

He hardly needed more ego stroking after the enthusiastic crowd, but she was also not going to lie to him. So she answered, "Like it? You better play it again." When he started to move away as if he intended to do it right then, she caught his arm. "Not here."

He returned to her side and bent to whisper in her ear, "Can we go home now?"

She shivered at the touch of his breath and their eyes met and in his, she saw the same burning desire to rip off his clothes and have him fuck her against the wall.

His other hand fell on her knee and felt like a brand against her skin as he slid his fingers up her bare thigh, beneath her skirt. He stopped there, knowing they were being watched and photographed, but she couldn't look away.

"Yeah, let's go home," she agreed.

It still took ten more frustrating minutes to get out of there. He signed four coasters and took more photos as people realized he was trying to leave. Even though she knew he wanted to get out of there more than she did, he hid impatience behind a gracious attitude and easy smile. She waited, talking politely with anyone who tried to speak to her instead, knowing impatience or annoyance would reflect badly on him at a time when he was still mostly known as Thor's little brother, who'd broken up the Odinsons out of jealousy. If one of the bar employees or accountants or BBC office drones put it up on their facebook that Loki's new song was great and he was friendly, and the comment spread, that was publicity he couldn't buy.

Outside, he tipped his head back to laugh and seized her hand, to pull her around in a circle. "Didn't I tell you it was good?"

She grinned back. "I can't wait to hear it on the radio enough to get sick of it." She poked him in the side. "See? That was you. I've heard enough of your stuff to know when you're being true and when you're faking it."

He tugged her into his body and purred at her, "So can I."

She scoffed. "You wish." But she tucked her arms around him and was glad for her heels that put them at eye-level. "You never have to," she murmured and slid her hands under his shirt to feel his skin, as his mouth seized hers again.

His hands smoothed her bare arms and tangled restlessly in her hair, but he pulled away with a gusty sigh. "Okay, the flat. Let's go."

She smirked knowingly. "Jeans too tight?"

He smirked back, unembarrassed. "I'm not the only one." His eyes dropped deliberately to her chest and she saw that her thin bra and thinner silk blouse were showing a lot of nippleage, and he hadn't even seriously touched her there yet.

She brushed her arm across her breasts, trying to make it less obvious, and instead making a little burst go through her of wanting more.

He watched with intent pale eyes and a phantom warmth seemed to settle between her legs, a feeling that strengthened when he murmured in a low voice, "God, I want to touch that so badly."

"So do I. Let's hurry, or I'm gonna want you up against some alley, and I don't think either of us need that instagram going viral."

They made it into the lift of his building and fortunately were alone, as she pushed him into the wall and tugged at his shirt, failing to get it over his head without letting go of his mouth on hers. Meanwhile he reached around to fumble at her bra at the back, and she mumbled, "Front. It's the front today."

"Oh, thank God." In an instant he had her unhooked in the front and his hands rising to cover her naked breasts under her shell. She gasped a breath and tilted her head back, and he shifted their position so her back was against the wall as he caressed her skin, thumbs rubbing the sensitive underside while his fingers made her quiver with gentle tugs on the nipples.

Her hands slid up and down the fine muscles of his back and hollows of his hips, though it eventually settled into her awareness that the lift had stopped and was patiently waiting for the code to open the door.

Feeling a bit like some sort of fainting Gothic heroine, she lifted one hand reluctantly off of him and held it toward the panel, but she was too far away to touch it without pushing him off, and she didn't want to do that. But the lift doors were not going to open without the code. It was hard to remember how to talk when he was touching her there, and his lips were on her neck. "Uh, Loki, the lift… "

His hair already looked sinfully wild around his face as he lifted his head with a groan of reluctance. "Who's stupid idea was this?" he complained but entered the code.

In the foyer to his flat she kicked off her heels and he toed himself out of his boots. When the lift doors shut, she unzipped her skirt, dropping it to the floor. He watched, unmoving, eyes sliding the length of her legs and her bikini panties, but when she started to lift off the silk tanktop he stirred himself to speak. "Leave that, you can lose the bra, though."

She arched her brows as she shimmied out of the straps and dumped the bra on the floor, too. "Oh? You have plans?"

"If you don't mind me ruining it?" he asked, licking his lips as he stared at the shape of her breasts beneath the silk.

"Hell no." Ordinarily she would've given him a 'my eyes are up here' but not right now. Right now he could devour her with his gaze all he wanted. "Shirt. Your shirt."

He stirred and pulled his shirt off. She did a little staring of her own, though it wasn't like that shirt had left much to her imagination. He was about to unfasten his jeans himself, but she smacked his hand away. "No. If anybody's peeling them off, it's me."

In his bedroom, his bed was low but extra wide to accommodate his height, and his sheets always felt cool and soft.

She ended up sitting on the edge of it, with him kneeling on the floor, wetting her blouse with his mouth so the silk clung like second-skin to her breasts and he licked her nipples to rigid points beneath. When he held back to look, she shuddered, and again when his lips found her tip to suck hard, while his fingers clutched at her bare legs.

Falling back, she yanked the blouse out of the way, wanting his touch directly, and clasped his still-clad bottom half with her legs.

His hand ran the length of her body, as far as he could reach, and back up on the inside of her thigh before stroking her across her underwear, making her feel how wet it was already. She whispered something pathetic and needy, as his fingers worked their way beneath.

Agile musician's fingers had figured out how to play her years ago, caressing her clit until she was a bundle of raw energy, seething and writhing and all she could do was claw at his shoulders until her body buckled under the pressure and the pleasure cracked through her.

His fingers gentled and slowed their movements, easing her down, and then he pulled his hand away to paint the points of her nipples with it, before licking it off.

She pulled him up her body again, to find his mouth, now tasting a little of herself, as his hips pressed into her, seeking some kind of relief for the way his jeans must be constricting him.

Sliding her hands down his sweat-dampened chest and the planes of his stomach, she worked his button and tried to push the jeans down. But they were too tight and she laughed a little, looking up into his eyes. "I think you have to stand up or these aren't coming off."

"Not one of my wiser picks," he said drily.

"Oh, I don't agree with that. They're great, especially in the back," she clutched him there - he filled out the seat spectacularly - "but better off, right now."

He stood and she opened them, eyebrows lifting as she realized either he was wearing very tiny briefs or no pants underneath at all. That little bare patch beneath his navel made heat flare between her legs again. She darted forward to put her lips on it, making him start a little in surprise and then let out a ltitle groan at the feel of her tongue dragging across the skin. "Oh, God, Sif, don't make promises you're not keeping."

"And who says I'm not keeping them?" she challenged and peeled his jeans down his legs. His cock, free of the oppressive tightness, sprang up mostly erect already.

The groan deepened, as she wrapped her hand around it. "Oh, God, Sif."

She was never a huge fan of sucking him off, but she loved to feel how her tongue and lips made his hips jerk and how he groaned her name and tangled a hand in her hair. And she loved how a gentle brush of her finger against his balls made him swell in her mouth and he lost his breath.

Sometimes she'd finish him, but today, she pulled back. She cut off his whine of complaint by standing and looking him dead in the eye, "Not like this. I want you to come inside me."

He reached for her, but she moved back a little ways and crawled up onto the bed, on hands and knees, and then stopped there so he would get the hint.

"Like that?" he asked, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she grinned to see see he looked wide-eyed with more than surprise.

"Exactly like this." She could reach the bedside drawer and tossed a condom to him. "Yours. Fuck me like you mean it. Like you missed me when I was gone."

"How can you possibly doubt that?" he demanded.

She'd meant it as a tease, but he sounded actually hurt, so she answered, "Not as much as I missed you."

The bed dipped as he joined her and moved behind her, and the easy lust in his voice was back as he retorted, "Not possible." The long warmth of his body pressed against hers, rigid dick against the back of her thigh, his hand propping himself up on one side as the other started on her flank and stroked her bare skin. Smoothing her hair to hang down on one side, he kissed the nape of her neck and then fondled her breasts, toying them back to erect nipples. She sucked in her stomach, as his hand spread the breadth of her waist before slipping back between her legs.

"You ready for me?" he murmured, sliding one finger over her clit and inside. "No, not yet."

"Yes, I am, right now,"

His chuckle seemed particularly wicked, as he teased her clit again and this time pushed two fingers deep. "You're not close enough."

"Loki--" She shuddered, feeling herself tighten on his fingers, wanting so much more than he was giving her. "Come on."

It was one of the few times when pulling his hand from there was a relief, and that only because she knew what would replace it.

But the relief was brief as he pushed inside her, she braced herself on the bed as he filled her. "Oh yes, need you, all of you."

His hands came down on her hips to hold her in place, "You feel so amazing," he managed to say, caressing her flanks quickly, before holding on again as he started thrusting.

In this way it was so deep, and strong, filling her up so much she felt a cry start to bubble up in her chest at the pressure. One hand she kept braced but the other she freed to reach beneath and lightly touch her clit, his thrusts moving her hand enough.

And still it built until she was shaking, her fingers were claws into the sheets, and she had her head back as far as she could hold it, as the tension throbbed within.

He moved faster then, chasing his own, and that little change was enough to push her over the edge with a cry. Her whole body seized up, and since he didn't stop, it wrenched another one from her until only his grip was keeping her hips up. Her arms collapsed and she panted into the mattress.

With a few fast shallow motions and one final deep plunge, he froze, fingers bruising on her hips as he hissed through his teeth. She knew the face he made at that moment - all tightly closed eyes and grimace like he was in pain - and then a release of a long breath and a few thrusts to finish.

Peeling his fingers off, he smoothed the skin gently, and pushed her lightly down flat. He followed her down, while they both caught their breath. Stirring himself to pull off the condom, he flopped back down and tucked himself around her, kissing her shoulder. "You good?" he asked.

"You can do that again in an hour," she teased. "But for now, yeah, I'm good."

In a way, spooning with his leg over hers, his arm over her body and feeling his breath on her hair was even better than the sex. She closed her eyes, relaxing into the moment of two warm bodies, inseparable and drowsy with pleasure they'd given and received.

A few minutes were filled with nothing but soft breathing, as she hung on the edge of sleep, and he murmured, "You're wrong, you know." His hand stroked her hair, smoothing it at the side of her head. "Not that there isn't some pressure, I know that’s true, but it's not really that. I write better when you're around. You make me… come alive, in a way nothing and no one else does."

She turned over to look at him, and he tried to avoid her eyes, embarrassed. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me." Smiling, she let her hand caress his defined cheekbones and across his lips, before leaning close to kiss him. It was peaceful to kiss him, relearn his lips and mouth here in their bed, while her fingers felt the stubble forming on his jaw. They didn't have to go anywhere, or be anyone else, just be there with each other.

A yawn took her by surprise, and he grinned and kissed her again before withdrawing. "Rest, if you want. Take your time getting up. I have an idea, so I'll be in the next room."

He slipped out of the bed, put on shorts, and returned to his music.

She might have felt abandoned, except the sound of his guitar embraced her warmly, and she closed her eyes, content.

* * *

end.


End file.
